


The Art Of War

by nycgrl



Category: The Patriot (2000)
Genre: A lot of people die in this, American History, And hell is what you make it, Angst, Dubcon Kissing, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, The American Revolution, The Revolutionary War, Violence, War, War is an art form
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nycgrl/pseuds/nycgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“War is an art form, my dear. Not the tasteless, mindless slaughter of empires past. You may see it that way, but there is a reason behind every death. Because the ends justify the means.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Fire the house and barns. Let it be known, if you harbour the enemy, you _will_ lose your home.”  
  
Elanor exchanged a glance with Gabriel, shocked at the blatancy of the man’s words. Gabriel’s grip on her hand tightened, warning her to hold her silence.

“By standing order of His Majesty, all slaves of the American Colonies who fight for the Crown, will be granted their freedom, with our victory.” The man continued, looking satisfied towards the group of hired hands who worked in their fields.

“Sir..” One of them replied, removing his hat and twisting it in his hands anxiously as he exchanged glances with the others. “We’re not slaves. We work this land, but we’re freedmen.”

“Well, then you’re freedmen who will have the opportunity and the _privilege_ of fighting in the King’s Army, _aren’t_ you.” He snapped, as a soldier came hurrying down the steps of the porch past them, Gabriel’s bag clutched tight in his hands.  

“Rebel dispatches, sir.” He handed the satchel up to the man on horseback, as the family watched on in horror. The man flipped through the contents.

“Who carried this?” He questioned absently, glancing up at the Lieutenant, who fumbled, shrugging.  

“ _Who carried this?_ ” He demanded again, and Elanor looked up as Gabriel reached for his uniform coat and pulled it over his shoulders, wincing.

“I did, sir.”

Elanor snatched vainly for his hand again, anything to stop him, but he brushed her off, sending her another look.

“I was wounded, these people gave me care. They have nothing to do with the dispatches.” He said loudly, making his way to the front of the little group on the stairs.

The man watched him with pensive eyes for a moment, then glanced to the Lieutenant, handing him the satchel.

“Take this one to Camden, he is a spy. Hang him, put his body on display.”

“He’s- he’s a dispatch rider, and that’s a marked case!” Benjamin finally spoke up, stalking forward as two soldiers took Gabriel.

“Destroy the livestock, save the horses for the Dragoons.” The man continued, ignoring him.

“Colonel, this is a uniformed dispatch rider, carrying a marked case. He cannot be held as a spy.”

The Colonel stared at him for a moment, an unsettling smile curling his lips.

“Well we’re not _going_ to hold him. We’re going to hang him.”

Thomas started forward at his words, but Elanor snatched his wrist and dragged him back against her side, sending him a warning glare.

“Colonel..”

“Father.” Gabriel hissed, and Benjamin paused.

A look of understanding passed into the Colonel’s eyes.

“Oh, I see. He’s your son. Well, perhaps you should have taught him something of loyalty.”

“Colonel, I beg you, to please reconsider. By the rules of war—“  
  
“The rules of war. Would you like a _lesson,_ sir, in the _rules of war?”_  
  
He cocked his pistol, brandishing it in Benjamin’s face, before a sly look crossed his own.

“Or perhaps your children would?”

The barrel shifted so it was pointed at the group on the stairs, and Elanor moved instantly, shoving Margaret and William behind her as Abigayle did the same, shielding the younger children with their bodies.

The Colonel’s gaze swept over Abigayle, their beloved servant, before turning to Elanor. He took his time looking her over, gaze sweeping slowly over her frame and taking it in, tasking the sight to memory.

The smallest of dangerous smiles quirked his lips as his gaze turned back to Benjamin, who had moved in front of them protectively, arms spread as if to guard them behind him.

“No lesson is necessary!” 

He arched an eyebrow, but lowered his pistol, and the Lieutenant chose that moment to speak up.

“Sir, what of the rebel wounded?”

The Colonel glanced his way, seeming to take a moment to process his question, his gaze flickering over the wounded soldiers.

“Kill them.”  


Everyone was silent for a moment as his words sunk in; even the Lieutenant looked momentarily horrified. The soldiers used the distraction to drag Gabriel forward, binding his hands with ropes. Thomas fidgeted at her side.

“Father, do something!”

“Be _quiet.”_ Benjamin snapped, and Thomas snapped his mouth shut, but a look of furious determination came over his pale face.

Elanor snatched vainly at her brother as he steeled himself and ran forwards, ramming his shoulder into one of the Redcoats in front of Gabriel, sending the soldier sprawling.

_“Gabriel, run!”_

Their father yelled a warning, but it was too late. The Colonel levelled his pistol and fired a shot, hitting Thomas in the back.

Elanor's scream was mixed with their father’s, and they both sprinted forwards. Benjamin caught Thomas as he tumbled to the ground, cradling him in his lap, as Elanor sank to her knees beside him, pressing the cloth of her skirt to the bloody exit wound in his chest.  
  
The soldiers dragged a screaming Gabriel off, and Elanor slowly rose, staring in shock at the Colonel.

"How could you?" She whispered, heartbroken.

"Oh, easily, my dear.” He sneered.

Her eyes blazed, and she stepped forwards.

"You monster! What's _wrong_ with you?! He's only _fifteen,_ for god's sake, just a boy!"

He seemed amused at her outburst.

"Never knew a girl to have as much gall as that, especially towards an officer. Tell me, would you like the same fate as that boy?"

He motioned to Thomas.

Elanor reached back to hit him, but froze, the telltale click of metal sounding as she was suddenly staring down the barrel of his pistol.

"Ah ah ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. And in answer to your question, there is nothing _wrong_ with me. I simply give people what they deserve. So tell me." He leaned closer, so that only she could hear him.

"What do you deserve, my dear?"  


She stood her ground, glaring daggers. If he was such a man, let him have the courage to say something else. He wouldn't do anything to her. Unfortunately, he seemed to hear her thoughts.

"Ah. You don't think I could hurt you, do you? Think I wouldn't dare hurt a woman? Well, if you'll look over there--" he motioned again to Thomas, "--you'll find what I'm capable of, even towards children. Now, do you really want the same fate? I know I wouldn't."

He paused.

"Still, you ought to be taught a bit about respect and manners, girl."

His hand moved slightly, the barrel of the pistol shifting a few inches, and fired.  
  
Elanor screamed and fell to her knees as a blinding pain shot through her. She grasped her arm, blood staining her dress's sleeve scarlet. She wasn't sure if the bullet had gone into her arm or just grazed it, but either way, she was in so much pain she was seeing black spots splattered across her vision.  
  
Benjamin had tried to pull her hand away to check the damage to her arm, but was stopped by the barrel of a pistol at his throat. A few soldiers dragged him back, and as Elanor gasped in pain, trying to control her breathing, she shrieked as hands clamped around her, dragging her onto a horse.

The Colonel.  
  
She vaguely heard Benjamin yelling, but an arm wrapped around her tightly, a leather-gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and suddenly they were moving. Elanor managed to look up, focusing hard on their house, which was now in flames, her father standing with her younger siblings, and Thomas laying on the ground under the trees. Her little brother, only fifteen years old, and a victim of needless war brutality.

The brutality of the man currently holding her against him tightly.

She struggled a bit, managing to pull his hand away from her mouth.

"Who _are_ you?"

He glanced down at her, silent for a moment, as if trying to determine whether or not he could be bothered to answer.

"Colonel William Tavington. Who are _you?"_

“Elanor Martin."


	2. Chapter 2

They rode back to the British encampment, and Tavington pulled her from the horse, carrying her into a tent. Must be the medical tent, as she took in the sight of several large trunks and a few cots.   
She ended up rather unceremoniously on one of the cots, and a surgeon appeared, having a quick discussion with Tavington.   
She screamed at the scalpels that removed the bullet, glaring through her tears at the Colonel, who just smirked.   
  
After her arm was cleaned and wrapped, Tavington snatched her by the back of her dress and dragged her from the tent, across the encampment to another. This one was obviously his, as it was bigger than the ones surrounding it belonging to the Regulars. She was thrown inside, falling against the large camp bed on the opposite the wall.   
He followed her in, a smirk curling his lips as he settled into the chair before the desk. 

"How's your arm, love?" 

She glared at him, covering the bandage with her hand protectively. "You shot me. How do you think it is?" He chuckled quietly, sauntering over to her, and lifted her chin with a finger. 

"It was a necessary risk.”  
  
She blinked back the red that spattered her vision, reaching back with her good arm and slapping him across the face with all her strength.   
He staggered slightly, but recovered quickly, a livid flush on his face.   
  
He struck her across the face with the back of his hand, so hard her vision blacked for a moment, and she fell backwards, her palm pressed to her cheek as she huddled on the floor against the side of the bed. 

"Wrong choice." 

She scrambled away from him, struggling to her feet and backing towards the desk.   
  
"You shot my brother for absolutely no reason."  

"No reason? He attacked my men." 

“He was an unarmed fifteen year old. You took away his older brother, the man he looked up to. You can't blame him for being desperate.” 

He sneered, but didn't reply. 

"And what possible motive would you have for shooting me? I did nothing." 

"You challenged me, and so I taught you a lesson. Besides, you were easier to take when wounded." 

Her jaw dropped. "You cannot be serious." 

"I am." 

She clenched her fists, raising a hand to hit him again, but he caught her wrist. 

"That would be most unwise." 

She glared at him for a moment, then dropped her hand when he let go. "And.. What exactly do you plan to do with me, now that I'm here?" 

The smirk that crossed his face made her regret asking.

"What do you think I'm going to do?"   
  
She backed up, until she collided with the desk, and glared at him across the tent. 

"You're scared of me?”

"You're honestly asking me that? I watched you shoot my little brother in cold blood, right in front of me. I know what you're capable of now, so yes, I think I'm entitled to be scared of you!" 

A sneer curled his lip as he stared icily down at her.   
  
”You're entitled to _nothing,_ Miss Martin. Not anymore."   
  
"I cannot believe you." She whispered, and flinched as he spoke inches behind her. 

"You'll get used to me, love." 

She blinked, then turned and quickly pushed through the tent flap, looking around at the soldiers milling around her. She didn't get ten feet into the crowd before a hand roughly grabbed her braid and pulled, snapping her head back. 

"Just an advance warning, in case you were thinking about trying to escape. My men have been ordered to shoot on sight, should you try to leave without my permission."   
  
She looked away at his cold words, but nodded. "Good. Glad we got that cleared up. Now, inside." He snapped, motioning to the tent. 

She stared defiantly into his cold blue eyes, and after a moment, he sighed.

"Don't make me drag you. You know I will." 

She blinked, trying to decide if she would comply, or continue to defy him.   
He made up her mind for her, however, and reached out, snatching her up and tossing her over his shoulder, then carried her inside the tent as she kicked and flailed, and let her again tumble to the floor. She glared at him, and he raised an eyebrow. 

"You cannot claim I didn't warn you." 

She cursed at him under her breath as she got to her feet, and his hand caught her chin. 

"What was that?" 

His hand was unceremoniously shoved away. "Nothing."   
  
He glanced at his watch, then snapped it shut. "I have a meeting to attend. However, I must make one thing perfectly clear. You do not leave this encampment. That includes the river, as well. Anywhere you are not surrounded by His Majesty's Soldiers, you are forbidden to go. Understand?" 

She blinked, sorting out what he had said. 

_"Understand?"_

His hand tipped her chin upwards, forcing her gaze to his. 

"Yes." She finally whispered. 

"Yes, what?" 

She glared at him. "Yes, _sir."_ She finally mumbled, spitting the word like poison from her mouth. 

It seemed to be good enough for him, however, and he shot her one last exasperated glance before stalking from the tent. 


End file.
